The Room with the Second-Best View (11 page)

“That's where I think you can help.” Millie came to the point of this morning's visit. “You're a well-respected business owner. If anyone can convince them that this is a good idea, it's you.”

A small smile curved Frieda's thin lips. “I do have a way with people.”

Though Frieda's
way with people
bordered on pushy, at least she had the connections with the downtown community that Lulu and Millie did not. “But we have to move fast. Lulu and I are already working on the application, but it usually takes months, and the approval process can be months longer. We've got to sell Goose Creek on the program, and then we need to convince the Heritage Council to accelerate our application. Otherwise we won't have a chance at that private grant money.”

Millie had saved that last bit for impact. Since the grant money would provide the funds for Frieda's pet project, the reminder should provide the final nudge she needed.

“Count me in,” Frieda announced. “Tell me what we want them to agree to, and I'll make sure they do.”

Millie breathed a relieved sigh. The first obstacle overcome.

Frieda sprayed the glass-covered counter and then applied her cleaning rag with energy. The air filled with a pleasant lemon scent.

“Mmm, that smells good.” Millie glanced at the small label, on which was handwritten in neat print,
Lemon Cleaning Spray.
“What is it?”

“Oh, some sort of natural cleaning solution. Got it from Tuesday.” She cast a scowl toward the storefront and the day spa on the other side of the railroad tracks. “There's another weird one, but she does have some good ideas.”

“I like her.” Millie readily defended the flighty massage therapist.

“Well,” Frieda said grudgingly, “she has dressed up the downtown area a bit with her work on that day spa of hers. Though I wish she'd consulted me before painting her storefront purple. After all, I have to look out my front window at it every day.” She gave the countertop a final swipe as Millie turned to leave. “One good thing, anyway. I won't have to make any expensive changes to my shop. I keep the outside neat as a pin.”

Millie thought it best not to comment as she jerked the sticking door open and stepped over the uneven threshold.

Outside, she paused and tilted her face toward the sun. April still had two days left, but the air held the May-like scent of sweet grasses and freshly plowed soil. The soybeans in Barry Yates's front field had already begun to poke tender green shoots up through the ground. Millie battled a stab of frustration. If she hadn't injured her wrist, this would have been the perfect weekend to set impatiens in the front flower boxes.

She headed across the street, stepping carefully over the slightly protruding rails on the crosswalk. As she reached the opposite side, a car pulled into one of the diagonal parking places to her right. Agnes Peach emerged and called a greeting.

“Good to see you out and about. Feeling better this morning, are you?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“I'm going to pop in here and pick up some nail polish.” She stepped up onto the curb and headed for Tuesday's Day Spa. Through the front window of the drugstore, Millie glimpsed several people seated at the soda fountain counter. The Saturday morning Creekers were well represented today, so Albert would be fine on his own for a while. In fact, it would be good for him to spend time with his friends without her. After two days of helping around the house, he was beginning to get grouchy.

She followed Agnes through the bright purple door, noting how easily it swung outward on well-oiled hinges. Justin had done a beautiful job remodeling this building, despite the unfortunate color choice.

After the colorful hodgepodge of the Freckled Frog, stepping into the Day Spa felt like sipping a cool glass of lemonade on a warm summer afternoon. The subtle scent of lavender wafting from a flickering candle somehow blended with the quiet lilt of a strumming guitar to create an atmosphere of instant relaxation. In contrast to the dramatic purple of the spa's exterior, faint lilac walls and soft gray trim created a quiet, dreamy atmosphere. Millie pulled the door shut behind her, tension seeping from her muscles.

Tuesday's voice came from behind the walled-off partition that formed a private area where she performed massages. “Be with y'all in just a minute. Help yourself to tea while you wait.”

“No rush,” Millie called, and then joined Agnes at a table set along the right-hand wall, where a ceramic coffee urn containing hot water rested beside a display of herbal teas.

Agnes tore open a packet and dropped a tea bag into a cup. “I hope my casserole was edible. I used a different recipe this time.”

While Millie selected a mug from the stand, her mind filtered through the various offerings that filled her refrigerator. Had Agnes brought the enchiladas or the tetrazzini? Best to keep her reply generic.

She offered a smile and picked up a packet of peppermint tea. “We had Cindie's beef and noodles last night, but Albert is looking forward to trying yours tonight. I'm sure it will be delicious.”

“Well, let me know.”

After dunking her bag only a few times, Agnes tossed it into the trash and took her mug to a rack of all-natural nail polish on the opposite wall. Millie glanced at the bin. What a waste. After such a brief dousing, there was plenty of flavor still in that tea bag. She deliberately let hers steep until the scent of peppermint became robust enough to almost overpower the lavender candle. She hesitated over the sugar bowl. At home she would have added an artificial sweetener, but Tuesday was an outspoken naturalist and did not offer an alternative to sugar. Well, peppermint provided a flavor to be enjoyed on its own, even without the added sweetness.

Turning, she glanced toward the pedicure chair in the corner and was half-tempted to ask if Tuesday had time to fit her in. Bright sunshine and warming days heralded the onset of sandal season, which one couldn't enter with winter-dull toenails.

No, no pedicure today with Albert acting as chauffeur. He would chafe at having to wait for her. Besides, sitting in a chair that long without the donut would be agonizing.

She eyed the two chairs arranged on this side of the massage partition, an inviting assortment of magazines on the table between them. Instead she crossed to a display counter near the nail polish rack. Tuesday made and sold scented soy candles in a variety of colors, shapes, and scents.

A bottle of pink polish in her hand, Agnes joined her in front of the counter. “I know everyone says soy is better, but I'm not convinced there's really that much of a difference.”

“Oh, honey, there's a huge difference.” Tuesday emerged from the massage room, a length of floral print chiffon floating behind her. She approached and picked up a sea green pillar. “Soy burns longer and cleaner, and besides, it's vegetable-based. You don't get any of the nastiness of paraffin candles, like soot. You know the stuff that collects in your furniture and turns your ceiling black? Paraffin is a petroleum by-product.” Eyes wide, she leaned forward to emphasize her point. “Why, you might as well back a diesel truck up to your front door and fill your house with exhaust.”

Judging by the faintly horrified expression on Agnes's face, she must have owned a few paraffin candles.

Millie gestured toward a row of spray bottles on a nearby counter that were new since her last visit to the Day Spa. “Frieda was using this when I was over at her shop. When did you start selling cleaning products?”

Beaming, Tuesday replaced the candle and picked up a bottle. “Just this week. I've been making this stuff for years, so I decided I might as well sell it.”

Impressed, Millie glanced around the room. Besides being a naturalist, Tuesday was something of an entrepreneur. Either that, or the massage and pedicure business wasn't brisk enough to support her, and the addition of her homemade products was an attempt to supplement her income.

“I'll try one,” Millie said, pushing aside the guilty thought of the many bottles of spray cleanser beneath the kitchen sink at home.

“Thanks, hon.” Clearly pleased, Tuesday picked up a bottle and crossed to a small desk where she kept a calculator and a cash box.

Cheryl Lawson emerged from the massage room, her hair rumpled and her eyelids drooping. Her purse dangled from her fingers. “Ahhh.” Her lips curved into a languid smile. “That was wonderful.”

Grinning, Tuesday filled a paper cup from a water cooler in the corner and handed it to Cheryl. “Be sure to drink plenty of water today.”

“I will.” Cheryl pulled a check out of her purse and handed it to Tuesday, and then caught sight of Millie. Concern creased her forehead. “I heard about your accident. How are you feeling?”

Forcing a smile, Millie said, “It wasn't an accident, just a silly little mishap. I'm fine.” For a quick change of subject, she addressed Tuesday. “In fact, I'm here on official business. I'll be working with Lulu to put together our Main Street application, and we need to make sure we have the support of the town's business owners.”

Tuesday brightened. “You bet I'll support you. I'm all for free money wherever we can find it.”

Agnes advanced to Millie's side. “What's this about free money?”

Millie explained the program briefly, encouraged by Tuesday's vigorous nods.

“That
sounds
good,” Cheryl said, her tone flooded with doubt. “All except the part where Lulu Thacker is in charge. She's a newcomer to the Creek. Shouldn't we have one of our own leading the effort?”

A pair of bright spots appeared high on Tuesday's cheeks. She, too, was relatively new to Goose Creek, and until she'd proven herself by investing a significant amount of money in the town's economy with her renovations for her business, had suffered the scorn of the longtime residents. Including, to Millie's recollection, Cheryl herself.

Before the kindhearted massage therapist could make an ill-conceived reply, Millie leaped to Lulu's defense. “The position involves a lot of work, and not many people would be willing to make the commitment.”

Agnes appeared thoughtful, but Cheryl crossed her arms, her demeanor stubborn.

“Besides,” Millie rushed on, “Lulu has already gotten involved in the town's affairs. She volunteered for the celebration committee, and…” She cast around for a compliment that would speak well of her new friend's commitment. “And she hasn't missed a single meeting.”

“That's right, she hasn't.” Tuesday edged closer to Millie in what might have been an unconscious show of solidarity.

“But she doesn't know us,” Cheryl insisted. “And we don't know her.”

“That's where I come in. She recognizes that an in-depth knowledge of Goose Creek's history is necessary, so she asked me to help.” Not exactly the truth, but Millie saw no reason to admit that Lulu was afraid she'd offend Goose Creek business owners with her brash manner.

“With Millie's help she'll do just fine.” Tuesday put an arm around Millie's shoulders and squeezed, a gesture that abused her sore muscles to the point that she had to force herself not to grimace. “And maybe you ought to try to get to know her. She's a real nice lady.”

“Well.” Cheryl shouldered her purse strap. “I guess the decision's been made, so it's too late to argue about. Let's just hope she can get us some of that grant money.”

She left the building, and while Tuesday calculated Agnes's purchases—nail polish and a vanilla-scented soy candle—Millie watched through the front window as Cheryl crossed the street. She disappeared inside the Freckled Frog, and Millie relaxed. Frieda would not tolerate any hint of negativity circulating about this project. She would set Cheryl straight.

Susan hefted a cardboard box out of her car, propped it on the bumper, and slammed the trunk. Though her burden was not large, the textbooks inside gave it enough weight to require a bit of exertion, and she grunted as she lifted it off the bumper.

Justin, walking backward up the porch steps of their new home carrying one end of a dresser, called to her. “Leave that, Suz. I'll get it in a minute.” His words were clipped short as he strained under a far greater weight than this little box. At the other end of the dresser, Junior Watson lifted his half with no visible effort.